


The Kings, Glorfindel and the Morning After

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [56]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Arguments, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 14:02:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8404417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: This follows on from The Kings and the Beautiful Glorfindel, but can be read as a standalone.  Thorin and the dwarven ladies, Brangwyn and Bris, were stunned by the beauty of the legendary hero, Glorfindel, when he arrived in Mirkwood with Elrond and they’ve behaved rather badly.  After an acerbic row, Thranduil has finally forgiven his partner – or has he?  And will his bad temper continue into the night and last into the next day?





	

 

 

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings, Glorfindel and the Morning After

 

Pt I

 

“Ouch!” yelped Thorin.  “That hurt!”  But, in their beautiful airy bedroom in Mirkwood,  Thranduil ignored him and continued his silent and sullen thrusting.  And, Thorin, knowing he was at fault and not wanting to start another argument, bit his lip and fell silent too.

 

Things had been up and down all night, so to speak.  It had started with a bad row because Thorin, together with the dwarven ladies, Bris and Brangwyn, had been drooling over the extraordinarily beautiful elf lord, Glorfindel, who had arrived yesterday in the entourage of Elrond on a visit to Mirkwood.  True, he was jaw-dropping and everyone who saw him was drawn to him, as even Thranduil had been in his youth.  Moreover, he was a legendary hero and, to make things worse, he was such a lovely fellow, good-natured, generous and kind: jealous partners couldn’t even hate him, which was more than a little annoying for them.  But, certainly, Thranduil , Dwalin and the young Prince Thorin, who was Dain’s son and heir to the throne of Erebor, were absolutely fuming and ready to bop someone on the nose.  The drunken and suggestive repartee that had been aimed at the elf by their three dwarven partners was enough to provoke three separate arguments in three separate bedrooms that night.

 

Admittedly, Thorin was feeling pretty guilty by that time and he had pulled out every stop to prevent the elven king from walking out on him.  It had finished in an apology and a satisfying screw and the dwarf, with a certain amount of relief, had gone to sleep, believing that they had resolved their issues.  However, a couple of hours later, he was woken up by the elf climbing on top of him again and demanding another bad-tempered fuck; and, not long after that, it had happened again, by which time, Thorin was sore and rather bad-tempered himself.  But, he showed considerable restraint: if only he hadn’t been so silly over Glorfindel, none of this would have happened.  And so, he had shouldered the blame and hoped that all would be well in the morning.

 

.o00o.

 

When the sun finally did rise, Thorin awoke in Mirkwood with a groan and struggled out of bed.  Thranduil was still asleep with his head buried under the pillow and was doubtless feeling pretty vile too.  The dwarf took himself off to the bathing pool in the next room, hoping that a nice, long soak would help but it only improved things a bit.  He had drunk far too much the previous night, he thought, as he climbed into his clothes and he rather regretted all the things he had said and done during that evening spent with Elrond and his exquisite warrior, Glorfindel.

 

The arrival of these two elf lords had caused nothing but trouble and Thorin, Brangwyn and Bris were lucky that their relationships hadn’t come to an end that very night.  Moreover, the added complication between Thorin and Thranduil was that the elven king’s jealous reaction had been affected by the memory of an embarrassing passion that he had himself developed for Glorfindel - the brave, the beautiful, the sweet-natured - many years ago when he had been a young prince.  It made him squirm to remember how Elrond had told him that everyone, including Glorfindel, was laughing at him for his infatuation.

 

In the end, he and Thorin had given things another shot – as they usually did – and half the night had been spent in love-making.  That hadn’t helped much either, thought the dwarf, pressing his hand to a thumping head.  Perhaps he should force down some breakfast.  And he trudged blearily along to the dining hall.

 

.o00o.

 

A couple of hours earlier, before sunrise, Glorfindel had dragged himself from Elrond’s bed in a similar crotchety mood.  They had had a row as well – which was unusual because Glorfindel was too good-natured and Elrond too sensible for something like that to take place often.  But, Thorin and his dwarven friends had been provocative, especially when Bris, the lady tattooist, had suggested, rather shockingly, that the legendary hero pearled and pierced his cock in the latest fashion.  It was an obvious nonstarter!   But, Elrond, in the quiet of their bedroom, was rather taken with the idea – and that’s how the argument had come about.  Glorfindel had had a restless night and then, to cap it all, as he always did every morning before dawn, he had been obliged to drag himself off to his own apartment next door because Elrond, for some reason, wanted their relationship kept a secret.  The elven warrior rolled his eyes as he crawled tiredly beneath the cold sheets of his own bed.  Perhaps it was time to have a chat with his lover about this silly behaviour.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin collected some food from the breakfast buffet and then made his way over to the table where Bris and Brangwyn were sitting and plonked himself down with a sigh.

 

“You’re looking pretty fucked,” said Bris politely to her king, looking askance at the handsome dwarf with a certain amount of sour amusement.

 

“Well,” answered Thorin, with equal politeness, “if you mean I look dreadful, then, yes, I feel dreadful.  And if you think I look upset, then I’m definitely feeling upset.  And, if you think I look as though Thranduil has been screwing me half the night, then you’d be right there too.  You two are looking pretty ‘fucked’ yourselves, by the way, and doubtless have endured a similar night with your partners as the one I’ve just spent with mine.”

 

The two dwarf women nodded tiredly.  “We owed it to them, I suppose,” said Brangwyn, “but they certainly got more than their money’s worth.”  And she shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

 

“It was only a bit of fun with Glorfindel,” complained Bris.  “And who can blame us?  Everyone was falling over themselves to get near him.”

 

“And you got a bit nearer than most,” grinned Thorin, remembering how she had managed to find a reason to squeeze the elf’s prick.

 

The irrepressible dwarf woman let out a big guffaw.  “Yeah, I think they call me Brazen Bris behind my back.”

 

“And a well-deserved epithet it is too,” replied her king with an affectionate smile.  How did she manage to get away with her naughty behaviour? 

 

“But Dwalin wasn’t amused,” she continued.  “And he certainly let me know it last night.”

 

“Yeah, same here,” muttered Brangwyn glumly.  “It’s the lack of trust that really gets me,” she volunteered.  “Me, a wife and mother: as if I’d run off with some drop dead, gorgeous elf.  It wasn’t as if he asked.”

 

“And, would you have run off with him – if he had asked?” grinned Bris.

 

“Of course not,” said the heir’s wife indignantly.

 

Bris raised a quirky eyebrow.  “Hmm, well, then you’re a better dwarf woman than me.”

 

Thorin looked surprised.  “You don’t really mean that, do you?  I thought we were just having a bit of fun with Glorfindel.”

 

The tattoo artist shrugged.  “I thought we were just having a laugh too – until Dwalin reacted so badly.  And now I don’t know what I think any more.  I just hate someone who tries to control me.  And Glorfindel’s a free agent, isn’t he?  I don’t think he’s ever had a lover in all these centuries.  He’s such a sweet innocent that perhaps he needs someone to – you know – show him the ropes.”

 

“And you’re the one who reckons you’ll show them to him?” snapped Brangwyn (rather jealously, Thorin thought).  “In your dreams!”

 

Bris ignored her and pushed her food around her plate.  “What’s this?” she asked, holding up a rather limp object.

 

“A vegetarian sausage,” offered Thorin, stabbing one on the end of his fork.

 

Bris picked hers up and began nibbling at it thoughtfully.  “Doesn’t even taste like a sausage,” she concluded.

 

It was just at this moment that Glorfindel – the beauteous, the golden, the legendary  -  slouched wearily into the dining-hall, got himself a plate of food, then came and slapped it down at the dwarven table.  Bris’ teeth chomped down hard on her sausage in surprise.  

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

The three dwarves looked up, rather taken aback that the elven warrior had chosen to sit with them, especially after all the teasing they had put him through on the previous evening.

 

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” rumbled Thorin.

 

“Well, you’re a lot more entertaining than my fellow elves – and you did make me laugh last night,” replied Glorfindel, dipping his toast in his poached egg.  “And I know you love your partners, so I don’t really think you’re after my body, for all your teasing.”

 

All three grinned innocently back.  “Oh, no.  Definitely not after your body!” they chimed in unison.

 

“You look tired,” said Brangwyn solicitously.  “The beds are too hard here, aren’t they?”

 

“Umm,” replied the elf.

 

In fact, they were all thinking that he didn’t look quite so glorious this morning.  His great mass of golden hair was a bit mussed.  He hunched over the table.  And, were those bags they could see under his eyes?  The white light that had radiated from him the day before now seemed a tad dimmed.  _Perhaps I wouldn’t run off with him after all_ , thought Bris.

 

Glorfindel pierced one of his own sausages and half of it disappeared into his mouth.  The elf slowly chewed on it and the three dwarves stared in fascination.  Thorin felt quite flushed.

 

Then the dwarven king cleared his throat.  “I’d like to apologise for last night,” he said politely.  The other two nodded in agreement.

 

“What for?” asked Glorfindel in surprise.

 

“Well, you know: all the gawping and the suggestive comments…”

 

“And me grabbing your cock…..” added Bris.

 

“And us all getting drunk and going on about pearling and piercing…” said Brangwyn.  “And, you know, in the cold light of day, such comments from the king and his heir’s wife…..  Really inappropriate.  I don’t know what you must have thought of us.”

 

“Actually, I thought you were all good fun,” shrugged the elf lord with a wry smile, “ …..although those comments about body art did, ultimately, cause me problems.”

 

“Sorry about that,” murmured Brangwyn.  “Was Elrond disgusted with us?  Is that what caused the trouble?”

 

Glorfindel paused for a few seconds: here was his moment, if he wanted it.  “Well, actually,” he carried on slowly, “Elrond was quite taken with the idea and thought I should have it done.”

 

They all stared at him wide-eyed, a growing comprehension on their faces.  The elf’s remark had come completely out of the blue and they were wondering if they should put two and two together to make four.  Surely not?!

 

Thorin cleared his throat again and said tentatively:   “You mean…..you and him……?”  He just couldn’t think of any other reason why Elrond would be interested in what Glorfindel did with his prick.

 

“Yes,” responded the elf: “Me and him.  It’s been going on for years.”

 

They sat back for a bit with their mouths open and then Thorin said: “Is that why Elrond has always tried to protect you from everyone else who has ever been interested in you?”

 

Glorfindel blinked.  “In what way…..’protected’?”

 

“Well,” said the dwarf hesitantly, “you know…..whenever anyone goes after you – anyone at all - he….sort of….puts them right.”

 

“Puts…..them…..right?”  The elf’s usually gentle voice was soft and threatening.

 

“Er…..yes.  You know, like when Thranduil was young and developed a sort of…..infatuation….for you.  Elrond took him to one side.”

 

“Did he?  I didn’t know.  And what did he say?”  The response came out with an unsettling sibilance.

 

“Umm….he told him not to be silly – that everyone was laughing at him, including you.  Cut him to the quick – and it certainly threw a bucket of cold water on his passion for you.”

 

An unexpected look of fury came into Glorfindel’s eyes.  “He had no right,” he snarled.  “He had no right!  How dare he interfere in my life without my knowledge or say-so?  I knew he chased off the ones whom I explicitly told him were bothering me, but not _everyone_ who showed an interest.  And I would never laugh at anyone behind their back!”  And he pushed himself up from his chair and marched from the room.

 

“Oh-oh,” said Bris.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

“I’d better go after him,” said Thorin worriedly, also rising from his chair.  “Wouldn’t like to think I’d caused another row between them.”  And he hurried in Glorfindel’s wake.

 

“Well,” said Bris with a raised eyebrow.  “Who would have guessed?  Elrond and Glorfindel!”

 

“The quiet ones are always the worst,” nodded Brangwyn.  “Shall I fetch you another sausage?”

 

As she returned to the table with freshly filled plates, Thranduil came grumpily into the dining-hall.  He sat down next to the dwarven women with an ungracious glower and snapped: “Where’s Thorin?”  The ladies looked at each other and Bris cut her sausage firmly in two.

 

“Why?” she asked.  “Are you worried that he’s made his escape back to Erebor?”

 

Thranduil gave her a long, hard look.  “And why would he want to ‘escape’?” he snarled.

 

“You tell me,” was the tart response.  “But I did notice that he was sitting on a whole pile of cushions this morning.”

 

The elven king looked flustered.  “And what are you suggesting?”

 

Bris placed her knife and fork down carefully on her plate.  “I’m suggesting that this is yet another occasion when your jealousy has got the better of you,” she snapped, determined to turn the screws.

 

Thranduil looked haughtily down his long nose.  “I’m not here to discuss my private life,” he said tightly, “but to find out where he’s gone.”

 

Bris shrugged and, deciding to go all out for the Order of the Wooden Spoon, did her rather naughty stir: “Well, the last time I saw him, he was running out of here after Glorfindel, in the direction of the elf’s bedroom.”

 

A flash of anger passed over Thranduil’s face and he surged out of his chair in a flurry of robes.  But, as he dashed from the table, Brangwyn reached out and grabbed one of his flowing sleeves, jerking him to a sudden halt.

 

“Just stop for a moment and listen!” she barked.  Thranduil took a deep breath.

 

“He ran after him because we had all just found out something rather surprising and Thorin accidentally provoked him into losing his temper.”

 

“He never loses his temper,” snarled the elven king.

 

“But, when he does, he reminds me exactly of you,” laughed the dwarf woman.  “Don’t you want to know his secret?”

 

Thranduil glared at her and so she continued: “He and Elrond are lovers!  There!”  And she looked as though she had just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

 

The elf gaped: “Never!” he exclaimed, a whole variety of mixed emotions wreathing his face.

 

“And when Thorin asked if this was why Elrond was always steering people away from his favourite warrior, that’s when Glorfindel lost his temper and dashed out of the room with our noble king following closely behind.  I think he was feeling very guilty.”

 

Thranduil was beginning to sag and so Brangwyn gave him a kindly pat on the hand and drew him back down into a chair.  “Have a cup of tea,” she said, “and give him five minutes to sort things out.  He’s had so much experience with you that I expect he’ll do a good job of calming Glorfindel down.”

 

“All right,” replied Thranduil reluctantly, reaching for the pot.  “But, only five minutes, though.”

 

.o00o.

 

Meanwhile, Thorin had caught up with Glorfindel just as he was about to burst into Elrond’s rooms.

 

“Don’t,” he said quietly, grasping him by the arm, “or you might say something that could ruin your relationship forever.”

 

“And how would you know?” snapped the elf rudely, pulling his arm away.

 

“Because I’ve had so many rows and arguments myself with Thranduil,” said the dwarf sadly, “and they have all been very painful.  So, tell me: how many rows have you had with Elrond?”

 

Glorfindel looked away, fidgeted for a bit and finally admitted, “Apart from a spat last night, none.”

 

“Well, that’s wonderful,” smiled Thorin, “and doubtless a Middle-earth record.  But it doesn’t exactly equip you for a violent altercation, now, does it?”

 

“’S’pose not,” was the response.  And he kicked the wall with an elegant boot rather sullenly.

 

“So,” said the dwarven king calmly, taking him by his arm again and leading him to the door of his own apartment.  “Let’s talk about it over a drink and I’ll advise you on the best way forward.”

 

Glorfindel unlocked his door and stomped inside and Thorin grinned to himself to see him acting like this – just like a ‘normal’ person and not like the sweetest and most beautiful thing that had ever existed.  It certainly took away some of his romantic glamour.  “Come on, now,” he said, as he poured him a drink, “what’s all this really about?  After all, your lover has only been trying to protect you over the years.  What’s so wrong with that?”

 

“Lover!” Glorfindel almost spat.  “The word implies love.”

 

Thorin looked surprised.  “But don’t you love him?”

 

“Of course I do!  I’ve loved him ever since his wife was horribly tortured by orcs and sailed into the West.  Elrond was in despair and I comforted him.  I spent hours with him and that’s when I got to know him and fell in love with him.”

 

“And?” asked a puzzled Thorin.  “His wife is never coming back and so he’s on his own - single, you might say.”

 

“But, we’re elves!” cried Glorfindel.  “Don’t you understand?!  He can love only once.  I can love him but he can never love me back.”

 

“He’s told you that?”

 

“He doesn’t have to tell me,” replied Glorfindel angrily.  “It’s obvious he cannot love me and I thought that no-one else could love me too - only lust after me – because all my life, I’ve never had a relationship with anyone except Elrond.  Thousands have drooled when I’ve passed by but none have wooed me or told me that they love me.  And now,” he cried, getting up in agitation and pacing around the room, “I discover that the reason for this is because Elrond has played dog in the manger behind my back!  He cannot love me but he is making absolutely sure that no-one else will have the opportunity to love me either.  How dare he, _how dare he_ chase potential lovers away without my permission and prevent me from knowing true love!”

 

He bent over and seized Thorin by the collar.  “You do well to keep me from him because, the way I feel at the moment, I could easily throttle him!”

 

The dwarf could see the pent-up emotions of centuries in his face and tried to comfort him.  “I’m sure he has feelings for you,” he soothed.

 

“Feelings, yes; love, no!  What have I missed because of him?  What have I missed?”  And the tears came to his eyes. 

 

“And just think of Thranduil,” Glorfindel continued in anguish.  “I’m sure he could have loved me.  But Elrond lied to him, hurt him and humiliated him so that he found he couldn’t face me again.”

 

_Thank goodness_ , thought Thorin selfishly, wondering how different, lonely and loveless his own life would be without the elven king.  It would seem that he owed Elrond a favour but he could see Glorfindel’s point and he racked his head for something consoling to say to him.

 

The elf’s hands tightened on his collar and he was suddenly hauled to his feet and pushed up against the wall.

 

_He’s strong_ , thought the dwarf; _stronger than Thranduil_. _But I suppose he is a legendary warrior_.

 

“And what of you?” he growled in Thorin’s face.  “You soon lost interest too.”

 

“Ah, yes,” said the dwarven king mildly, “but it was _you_ who put me off, not Elrond.”

 

However, Glorfindel had got into his stride and nothing would stop him from blaming Elrond for his loveless life.  “Yes, but it was my love for Elrond that made me hold you at arm’s length – and he really doesn’t deserve my love, does he?”

 

He pressed closer against Thorin, his eyes tracing those fine, masculine features, one hand reaching up to tangle in his wild, dark hair.  What blue eyes he had!  He was beginning to understand the passion that Thranduil had for the dwarven king.

 

“What have I missed out on?” he murmured.  “If he had let me go and had freed me from the love I have for him, I could have fucked you yesterday when you came to my room.  Yet, because of him, I have never kissed nor touched anyone else in my life…… I am such an innocent,” he added wonderingly, “that I have no idea what a naked dwarf looks like.”   He touched the hairs that peeped from the top of Thorin’s shirt and began undoing the buttons.  “For instance, how far down does this hair go?” he asked huskily.  And he pulled the shirt to one side and gazed at the dwarf’s hairy chest and pierced nipple and tattoos in amazement.  “I don’t know if I’m repulsed or not,” he whispered, running a hand over the silken pelt.  “Not,” he concluded as he pressed a kiss into Thorin’s throat and began to follow the line of hair down below his belt.  And, as he clasped the dwarven king’s prick, which automatically sprang into life, Glorfindel gave a breathy sigh.  “Not so different from us elves, I see.”

 

Thorin gasped and squeezed his eyes shut.   _Think of Thranduil_ , he told himself.  _Just think of Thranduil._   And as the elf pressed yet another kiss to his throat, he managed to croak: “It’s in his name!  Elrond Half-Elven!  It’s in his name!”  Glorfindel paused as the implication of the dwarf’s words began to sink in.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

In the corridor outside, Thranduil was confronting Elrond as he came out of his room.  “Where are Thorin and Glorfindel?” he snarled.

 

“Well, they’re not with me,” replied a startled Elrond.

 

“Then I’m guessing that they’re in Glorfindel’s  room – together!”

 

Elrond looked surprised and then worried.  He flung open the door that neighboured his own apartment whilst Thranduil strained to peer over his shoulder.  They both stood frozen on the threshold for a fleeting second and then they charged as one into the room and dragged their two partners apart from each other.

 

“My room!  Now!  This minute!” snapped Elrond to Glorfindel in a cold voice.  His lover looked at him for a moment and then, his head held high, he made for Elrond’s quarters.

 

Thranduil was beyond angry.  The sight of Glorfindel kissing Thorin’s throat with a hand shoved down the front of his breeches was the last straw.  “You disgust me!” he yelled at the dwarf and then he hit him very hard.   Thorin staggered away, clutching his face, and an incandescent elven king, feeling as if he were about to explode, rubbed his bruised knuckles and strode from the room and out into the corridor with a furious toss of his platinum hair.   That was it!  That really was it!  He would pack Thorin’s bags and kick him out, back to Erebor.

 

Thorin, meanwhile, pressed his sleeve to his nose and it came away stained with bright blood.  With a sigh, he made a pad of a handkerchief he found in his pocket, dipped it in the water-jug and, lying down on the bed, placed it gently across the bridge of his nose.  He would sort things out later but, at the moment, he had had enough and he closed his eyes wearily.

 

The door crashed open again and he flinched.

 

“And if you think you can soft-talk me this time, then you’ve got another think coming!  There you are, lying on his bed, and you haven’t even got the decency to button up your shirt and your breeches.  You’re just lying there, so – so – exposed!  I can see everything!”  And Thranduil banged out into the corridor once more.

 

Thorin groaned and dabbed his nose.

 

The door crashed open yet again.  “You do this on purpose, don’t you?” yelled the elf.  “You think you can tempt me with your body!  You think that sex will resolve everything!  You think that flashing your chest and your cock will reduce me to a quivering puddle of desire and that then you can manipulate me and persuade me of anything!”  And he began a frantic pacing up and down the room.

 

Then he screeched to a halt and shouted: “By Eru!  Do those buttons up!  You look so disreputable, just lying there like that.”

 

Thorin held onto his bloody hanky with one hand and fumbled to do up the buttons of his shirt and breeches with the other.

 

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” snapped Thranduil, slapping the dwarf’s hand bad-temperedly away.  “Let me do that!”

 

.o00o.

 

In the room next door, Glorfindel had come straight to the point.  “I’ve always loved you,” he said, “but thought that you couldn’t love me because of your wife, Celebrian.”  Elrond looked taken aback.

 

“I was furious when I thought you had been preventing others from loving me behind my back and I was taking revenge with Thorin.”

 

“So that’s what groping is called nowadays?” asked Elrond sourly.

 

“But, just as you burst in, Thorin pointed out that you were half-elven…….and I’m hoping that your human side can love more than once.”

 

The elf lord shook his head in disbelief and then opened his arms.  “Come here, my silly boy.  Of course I have loved you all these years.  What do you take me for?”  And Glorfindel lay his head down upon his lover’s shoulder in relief.

 

“You know,” continued the elf lord, “I could hit you just for thinking that I didn’t and couldn’t love you.  But,” he smiled, “I think I shall kiss you instead.”

 

“Oh, yes,” sighed Glorfindel, raising his beautiful lips.  “That’s a much better idea.”

 

.o00o.

 

Thranduil had started to do up the buttons on Thorin’s shirt, but now he faltered.  The dwarf opened one eye.  The elven king was kneeling on the bed, bending over him, his face nearly touching his own – and he seemed to be breathing rather heavily.  Thorin closed his eye quickly and smiled quietly to himself.  And then he felt the back of the elf’s finger, which was tracing a path down the line of buttons, slowly slide inside the shirt and stroke the silken hairs of his broad chest.

 

It didn’t take long before the whole hand disappeared inside the shirt; and, after it had explored the ridges of muscle, the nipple ring and the dwarf’s deep navel, it edged down towards the open breeches.  Thorin noticed, with a certain amount of satisfaction, that Thranduil’s breathing was becoming increasingly laboured and he dropped his bloody handkerchief, ready for action.

 

The elven king seized the dwarf’s breeches with both hands and a yet-fastened button pinged across the room and fell with a clatter to the floor.  “I thought you were helping me do them up,” Thorin murmured.

 

“Just be quiet!” snarled Thranduil.  “I know what you’re up to.  And when I have fucked you, you can go back to Erebor.”  And Thorin’s boots and breeches speedily disappeared in a couple of quick motions.

 

Entry was fast and hard and the elf began grunting rhythmically.  “Make the most of this,” he growled, “because it will be your last time.”

 

“Well, before I go,” grunted Thorin in response, as his whole body moved backwards and forwards in time with the elf’s thrusts, “perhaps you’d like to know why Glorfindel had just decided to return to Elrond when you found him with a hand down my breeches.  An unsolicited hand, let me say.”

 

“Go on, enlighten me,” gasped Thranduil sarcastically, with only the smallest break in his stride.

 

“Because I had just persuaded him that Elrond loved him and he was thinking of giving him another go.”

 

Thranduil came in a stream of hot cum and collapsed on Thorin’s chest.  That had been a really good one.   “And is this your roundabout way of begging me to give you another go too?” he panted.

 

“I don’t beg for anything,” was the response.  “It’s entirely up to you.”

 

Thranduil hesitated.  He really had painted himself into a bit of a corner.  Of course he didn’t want to give up the dwarf: he loved him too much.  But his angry explosion had been caused by seeing Thorin and Glorfindel together like that.  And now his lover had thrown the ball into his court.

 

“Well,” he finally said rather haughtily, “I expect I can fuck you a few more times before you leave in the morning – if that’s what you want.”

 

Thorin grinned up at him.  “Why?  Isn’t it what you want too?”

 

Thranduil couldn’t help it: he had to grin back.  “You’re teasing,” he grumbled.

 

“Of course I am,” laughed the dwarven king, pulling him down into a gentle kiss.  “And, actually, I don’t want a fuck” – the elven king looked very disappointed – “but I _would_ like you to make love to me.”

 

With a big sigh, Thranduil snuggled comfortably into Thorin’s powerful throat.  “Love-making it is, then,” he murmured contentedly.

 

.o00o.

 

**Hope everyone enjoyed that.  And, if there’s any other character from Middle-earth that you would like me to work into a story, then just let me know.  I’m struggling for ideas, as usual.**

**Thank you once more for reading this and for all your support over so many stories.**

 

 

 

 

 


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